The wanderers of this aisle were covered in boils, rashes, pox, and any number of other visible ailments. One man, tough and battle-scarred, his skin discolored from illness, approached the two travelers.
“Greetings, travelers. My name is Rufus Scrimgeour, and I was once Minister of Magic, before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s forces killed me. You, boy, are obviously whole and healthy; of that I envy you. However, I must ask you to answer me just one question.”
“We will answer you anything, but first answer me this question: How is it you came to be in this state?” replied Albus shrewdly.
The former minister took a deep breath and looked down. “I never wanted He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to gain power. I knew that his forces were growing stronger and stronger. But I believed that making it look like the Ministry had things under control would be better for everyone. And I wanted to keep my job. I knew that the knowledge that the Ministry was powerless would be . . . unpopular.” He looked Albus straight in the eyes. “I caused the people to believe that your father and Dumbledore were stirring up trouble, and I placed Dolores Umbridge in charge of Hogwarts. I lied to the entire wizarding world to save face for the Ministry. Now I am doomed to have a body eternally corrupted by disease, just as I was a corrupt leader of the wizarding community.” He shook his head, wincing at his pain and discomfort. “But what of the world now? In what state is the Ministry of Magic?”
“It fell after Voldemort’s death. That Ministry never recovered, but a new ministry has been built--one that is dedicated to the equality of all magical species and the destruction of dark powers.” With a slightly satisfied look on his face, Scrimgeour left them.
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